Heart Utterances at Various Periods of a Chequered Life

Eliza Paul Gurney

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• Publié par: umkey
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 51
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart Utterances at Various Periods of a Chequered Life., by Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Heart Utterances at Various Periods of a Chequered Life. Author: Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney Release Date: May 25, 2008 [EBook #25599] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART UTTERANCES ***

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Heart Utterances

AT

VARIOUS PERIODS

OF

A CHEQUERED LIFE.

NOT PUBLISHED. iv I N this book I have scribbled some innocent rhymes, In various moods, and at different times; Some grave and some cheerful, some merry, some sad, Though none may begood, there are nonevery bad. vii tentCon.s PAGE K INDNESS , 9 W RITTEN   AT   THE D ELAWARE W ATER G AP , 10 W RITTEN   IN   AN A LBUM , 11 O N R EADING “G IBBON ’ S R OME ,” 12 W RITTEN   IN   A F RIEND ’ S A LBUM , 14 W RITTEN   AFTER   A V ISIT   TO   THE I NSTITUTION   FOR   THE D EAF AND D UMB , 15 O H ! T IME , AS   IT F LEETS , D OOMS   A J OY T O D ECAY , 16 O N L EAVING P INE C OTTAGE , 17 T HE M ORN   AND E VE   OF L IFE , 19 T HE E VENING S TAR , 21 R ECOGNITION   IN H EAVEN , 22 W RITTEN   IN L. J.’ S A LBUM , 23 T HE A LPINE H ORN , 25 T HE G ATHERING R OUND   THE O AK T REE , 27 J. H. ON   THE D EATH   OF   HIS W IFE , 29 T HOU G REAT F IRST C AUSE , 31 I N   A S EASON   OF B EREAVEMENT , 33 O N   A P ACKET   OF L ETTERS , 36 R EPLY   OF   THE M ESSENGER B IRD , 38 viii H EAVEN   AND E ARTH , 40 H USH , H USH ! MY T HOUGHTS   ARE R ESTING , 42 C ONSOLATION   IN B EREAVEMENT , 45 S UGGESTED   BY   THE C ONVERSATION   OF   A B ROTHER   AND S ISTER 4,6 O N   THE D EATH   OF   MY U NCLE , J OSEPH P AUL , 48 S PRING , 49 O H , FOR   A H OME   OF R EST ! 50 L IFE ’ S S TAGES , 51 T HE S HEPHERD   OF I SRAEL , 56 W OODBURN , 58 J. & H. C. B ACKHOUSE , 60 T HE P LAGUES   OF E GYPT , 64 T HE L AST L OOK   IS T AKEN , 69 T O   A F RIEND , 71 F AREWELL , 73

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T HE L AST D AY , 75 T HE R EUNION , 79 O N   THE D EATH   OF E LIZABETH F RY   AND S IR T. F. B UXTON , 80 E PHESIANS 4:32, 82 A T   A T IME   OF D EEP P ROVING , 85 A S   AN E AGLE S TIRRETH   UP   HER N EST , 86 W ILLIAM F ORSTER , 88 A LL A LONE , 92

Heart Utterances.

FIRST ATTEMPT AT RHYME. KINDNESS.

K INDNESS soothes the bitter anguish, Kindness wipes the falling tear, Kindness cheers us when we languish, Kindness makes a friend more dear. Kindness turns a pain to pleasure, Kindness softens every woe, Kindness is the greatest treasure, That frail man enjoys below. Then how can I, so frail a being, Hope thy kindness to repay, My great weakness plainly seeing, Seeing plainer every day. Oh, I never can repay thee! That I but too plainly see; But I trust thou wilt forgive me, For the love I bear to thee. 1811.

E. P. K.

WRITTEN AT THE DELAWARE WATER GAP.

G REAT and omnipotent that Power must be, That wings the whirlwind and directs the storm,

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That, by a strong convulsion, severed thee, And wrought this wondrous chasm in thy form. Man is a dweller, where, in some past day, Thy rock-ribbed frame majestically rose; The river rushes on its new-made way, And all is life where all was once repose. Pleased, as I gazed upon thy lofty brow Where Nature seems her loveliest robes to wear, I felt that Pride at such a scene must bow, And own its insignificancy there. Oh Thou, to whom directing worlds is play, Thy condescension without bounds must be, If man, the frail ephemera of a day, Be graciously regarded still by Thee. Here, as I ponder on Thy mighty deeds, And marvel at Thy bounteousness to me, While wrapt in solemn awe, my bosom bleeds, Lest recklessly I may have wounded Thee,— Wounded that Being who is fain to call The heavy-laden and the wearied home; The dear Redeemer! He who died that all Might to his glorious in-gathering come.

1818.

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

J UDGE of coming, by the by-past, years,we And still can Hope, the siren, soothe our fears? Cheated, deceived, our cherished day-dreams o’er, We cling the closer, and we trust the more. Oh, who can say there’s bliss in the review Of hours, when Hope with fairy fingers drew A magic sketch of “rapture yet to be,”   A rainbow horizon, a life of glee! The world all bright before us—vivid scene Of cloudless sunshine and of fadeless green; A treacherous picture of our coming years, Bright in prospective—welcomed but with tears. How false the view, a backward glance will tell! A tale of visions wrecked, of broken spell, Of valued hearts estranged or careless grown, Affection’s links dissevered or unknown; Of joys, deemed fadeless, gone to swift decay, And love’s broad circle dwindled half away;

E. P. K.

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Of early graves of friends who, one by one, Leave us at last to journey on alone. Turn to the home of childhood—hallowed spot, Through life’s vicissitudes still unforgot; The sacred hearth deserted now is found, Or unloved stranger-forms are circling round. In the dear hall, whose sounds were all our own, Are other voices, other accents known; And where our early friends? A starting tear And the rude headstone promptly answer, “Here.” Thus will compare Hope’s sketch of bliss to be With the undreamed of, sad reality; Yet this and more the afflicted heart may bear, If Faith, celestial visitant, be there, Whispering of greener shores, of purer skies, Of flowers unfading, love that never dies, A glimpse of joy to come in mercy given, The eternal sunshine of approving Heaven.

1818.

E. P. K.

ON READING “GIBBON’S ROME.”

A ND this man was “an infidel!” Ah, no! The tale’s incredible—it was not so. The untutored savage through the world may plod, Reckless of Heaven and ignorant of his God; But that a mind that’s culled improvement’s flowers From all her brightest amaranthine bowers, A mind whose keen and comprehensive glance Comprised at once a world—should worship chance, Is strangely inconsistent—seems to me The very essence of absurdity; Who, from the exhaustless granary of Heaven, Receives the blessings so profusely given, Looks with a curious eye on Nature’s face, Forever beaming with a new-born grace, And dares with impious voice aloud proclaim He knows no Heaven but this—no God but Fame. Lord, in refusing to acknowledge Thee, Vain man denies his own reality; But tho’ the boon oflifehe may receive From God, and still affect to disbelieve, What are his views atdeath’sresounding knell? Just Heaven! Sure, man ne’erdiedan infidel. Stretched on the agonizing couch of pain, All human aid inefficacious, vain, Where shall his tortured spirit rest? Ah, where? The past, all gloom! the future, all despair!

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’Tis then, O Lord, the skeptic turns to Thee, Then the proud scoffer humbly bends the knee; Feels in this darksome hour there’s much to do— Earth fading fast, Heaven’s portals far from view. Oh, what a hopeless wretch this man must be! His very soul weeps tears of agony. Dying he owns thereisa God above, A God of Justice, tho’ a Prince of Love. 1820.

E. P. K.

WRITTEN IN A FRIEND’S ALBUM.

T RUST not Hope’s illusive ray, Trust not Joy’s deceitful smiles; Oft they reckless youth betray With their bland, seductive wiles. I have proved them all, alas! Transient as the hues of eve; Meteor-like, they quickly pass Through the bosoms they deceive. Let not Love thy prospects gild; Soon they will be clouded o’er, And the budding heart once chilled, It can brightly bloom no more. Slumber not in Pleasure’s beam; It may sparkle for a while, But ’tis transient as a dream,   Faithless as a foeman’s smile. There’s a light that’s brighter far, Soothes the soul by anguish riven, ’Tis Religion’s guiding star Glittering on the verge of Heaven. Oh! this beam divine is worth All the charm that life can give; ’Tis not false as things of earth, Trust it then, ’twill ne’er deceive. 1821.

E. P. K.

WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO THE

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INSTITUTION FOR THE DEAF AND DUMB.

I THGUOTH those youthful hearts were bleak and bare, That not a germ had ever flourished there, Unless perchance the night-shade of despair, Which blooms amid the sunless wilderness. But I was told that flowers of fairest kind Graced what I deemed a desert of the mind, That for these hapless beings man had twined A fadeless wreath to make their sorrows less. And then I feared, like sunbeams of the morn Which spoil the frost-work they awhile adorn, That rays of light might render more forlorn The expanding bosoms they were meant to cheer. I feared those glittering beams would vainly show That the best charms of life they ne’er could know, “The feast of reason and the soul’s calm flow,” The witchery of sound, the bliss to hear. But when I saw those eyes mirthful and bright, And beaming soft with intellectual light, My groundless fears that moment winged their flight, I felt that joy would on their path attend. May Heaven this favored Institution bless, Man’s “high endeavor” crown with “glad success,” And on each patron’s noble brow impress The glorious title of “The dumb man’s friend.”

1822

TIME.

O H ! Time, as it fleets, dooms a joy to decay, From the chaplet of hope steals a blossom away, Throws a cloud o’er the lustre of life’s fairy scene, And leaves but a thorn where the rosebud had been. It sullies a link in affection’s young chain, That, once slightly tarnished, ne’er sparkles again, Spoils the sheaves that the heart in its summer would bind, To guard ’gainst a bleak, leafless autumn of mind. But a region there is where the buds never die,

E. P. K.

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Where the sun meets no cloud in his path through the sky, Where the rose-wreath of joy is immortal in bloom, And pours on the gale a celestial perfume; Where ethereal melodies steal through the soul, And the full tide of rapture is free from control. Oh, we’ve nothing to do in a bleak world like this, But to toil for a home in that haven of bliss.

1822.

(Added in 11th mo., 1861.) “Nay, toil not,” saith Jesus, “but come unto Me;” There’s rest for the weary, rest even for thee— I have toiled, and have suffered, and died for thy sin; Then only believe, and the crown thou shalt win, The crown of Eternal Life, fadeless and bright, Prepared for all nations who walk in the light.

ON LEAVING PINE COTTAGE.

W HEN our bosoms were lightest, And day-dreams were brightest, The gay vision melted away; By sorrow ’twas shaded, Too quickly it faded; How transient its halcyon sway! From my heart would you sever, (Harsh fate!) and forever, The friends who to life gave a charm, What oblivion effaces Fond mem’ry retraces, And pictures each well-beloved form. Some accent well known, Some melodious tone, Through my bosom like witchery shed, Shall awake the sad sigh, To the hours gone by, And the friends, like a fairy dream, fled. Long remembrance shall treasure Those moments of pleasure, When time flew unheeded away; Joy’s light skiff was near us, Hope ventured to steer us, And brighten our path with her ray. We sailed down the stream

E. P. K.

E. P. G.

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’Neath her luminous beam, Our spirits were closely entwined; What are joys of the bowl To this calm flow of soul, This heavenly mingling of mind? Pure Friendship was there With celestial air, Her cestus around us she threw; “Be united,” she cried, “Ne’er may discord divide A union so blissful and true.” But those hours are past, They were too bright to last; Joyous moments but seldom are given, That man may be taught, Worldly pleasures are naught,— True happiness dwells but in Heaven.

1822.

E. P. K.

THE MORN AND EVE OF LIFE.

S O soft Time’s plumage in life’s budding spring, We rarely note the flutter of his wing. The untutored heart, from pain and sadness free, Beats high with hope and joy and ecstasy; And the fond bosoms of confiding youth Believe their fairy world a world of truth. The thorn is young upon the rose’s stem; They heed it not, it has no wound for them. While yet the heart is new to misery, There is a gloss on everything we see; There is a freshness, which returns no more When fades the morn of life that soon is o’er; A warmth of feeling, ardency of joy, Delight almost exempt from an alloy, A zest for pleasure, fearlessness of pain, That we are destined ne’er to know again. And what succeeds this era joyous, bright? Is it a cloudless eve or starless night? To those who’re busied in life’s brilliant dawn With gathering flowers that bloom when spring is gone, And, ere their morning sun begins to wane, Add many a link to fond affection’s chain, To Heaven’s supreme behest have meekly bowed— ’Twill prove indeed an eve without a cloud.

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What though the brilliancy and sheen of day With youthful hours have faded all away; What though the fresh and roseate bloom of spring A fragrance in our path no more shall fling; Yet there’s a foretaste pure of joys divine, A quiet, holy calm in life’s decline, A moonlight of the soul in mercy given To light the pilgrim to the gates of Heaven.

1824.

THE EVENING STAR.

H AIL , pensile gem, that thus can softly gild The starry coronal of quiet eve! What frost-work fabrics man shall vainly build Ere thou art doomed thy heavenly post to leave! Bright star! thou seem’st to me a blest retreat, The wearied pilgrim’s paradise of rest; I love to think long-parted friends shall meet, Blissful reunion! in thy tranquil breast. I saw thee shine when life with me was young, And fresh as fleet-winged time’s infantile hour, When Hope her treacherous chaplet ’round me flung, And daily twined a new-created flower. I saw thee shine while yet the sacred smile Of home and kindred round my path would play, But Time, who loves our fairest joys to spoil, Destined this hour of bloom to swift decay. The buds, that then were wreathed around my heart, Now breathe their hallowed sweetness there no more; ’Twas thine to see them one by one depart, And yet thou shinest brightly as before. So, when this bosom, that ’mid all its woes Has longed thy little port of rest to win, In the calm grave shall find at last repose, Thou’lt beam as fair as though I ne’er had been.

1824.

E. P. K.

E. P. K.

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RECOGNITION IN HEAVEN.

O H ! say, shall those ties, now so sacred and dear, That with rainbow hues tint all our wanderings here, Be regarded no more in that heavenly sphere Whose portal’s the grave? When, “washed and forgiven,” our spirits ascend To the home of the blest where all sorrowings end, O, will not a parent, a sister, a friend, Haste to welcome us there? Shall we see no loved form we have gazed on before, To commune with of times that are faded and o’er? Will the “dear chosen few” be remembered no more In that haven of bliss? O my heart must believe, ’mid ethereal chimes A gloom would steal over my spirit sometimes, If the friends I have loved, in these heavenly climes, Seemed to know me no more. But hope fondly whispers it shall not be so; Each purified spirit my bosom shall know, And all unremembered the ’plaining of woe, We’ll joy in the Lord.

1824.

WRITTEN IN L. J.’S ALBUM.

E. P. K.

G AY visions for thee ’neath hope’s pencil have glowed, Peace dwells in thy bosom, a guileless abode; Thou hast seen the bright side of existence alone, And believ’st every spirit as pure as thine own. May’st thou never awake from these rapturous dreams, To find that the world is not fair as it seems, To feel that the few thou hast loved have deceived, Have forsaken the heart that confided, believed, And left it as leafless, as bloomless, and waste As the rose-tree that’s stript by the merciless blast. When the warm sky of childhood was beaming for me, My days were all joyous, my heart was all glee; Affection’s best ties round my bosom were spun; No cloud dimmed the lustre of life’s morning sun. If I watched o’er my favorite rose-bud’s decay,